don't knock it till you try it: going back to work

When my official maternity leave was drawing to a close, I received an email from my manager. "Well, looks like you'll be back in the office before you know it, right?" Obviously, he thought I was returning to work. I suppose I'd given him no reason to suspect otherwise--most people who worked at the company would just come back after three months (or sooner), and that was that.

But I had other plans. Actually, referring to my mindset at the time as "plans" is probably being too generous with myself. Basically, I had a negative physical reaction every time I thought about returning to work. I would meditate on the reality of going back to the office, and the bile would rise.

"I really don't want to go back to work," I told Nick, the father of the baby. I felt like I was telling him that I was, at heart, a man.

"Yeah, right," he said, unmoved. "I mean, of course you're not going back, right?"

Of course I wasn't, but I pretended to wring my hands and fret about money. I suppose I actually did fret about money--obsessing about my imminent financial ruin one of my favorite pastimes. But the threat of a huge credit card balance that would take decades to pay off was not enough to make me do the normal, practical thing. When it came to going back to work, I simply didn't want to, and I wasn't going to.  

I emailed my resignation. They didn't want to accept it, which I guess was kind of flattering. At their suggestion, we arranged a work-from-home-for-ten-hours-a-week thing for a few weeks while I "thought about it." But it was like a trial separation when you've already bought a one-way ticket to the home town of your secret true love. At the end of the trial, I decided to leave for good.

I spent several months doing freelance stuff, almost solely for my former employer. I was grateful for the arrangement, which allowed me to work from home, primarily while the baby was sleeping.

But all things move toward their end, and one day I received a proposition--to return to the office, part-time, to cover someone else's maternity leave. I would only have to come to the office twice a week! And only for four hours at a time! It was a pretty flexible arrangement.

I totally didn't want to do it, but I accepted the offer.

I went in to meet with "Lena", the woman whose job I was going to be covering. She was quite pregnant, and obviously more than ready to get out of the office. "I'm sure you'll do fine," she told me a really familiar way--a way that says, "I don't actually care, and I won't be around to know otherwise."

Her job seemed pretty straightforward, so I didn't worry too much. She'd documented everything I was supposed to do in super-detailed Word documents. But then suddenly she was gone, and I had to start meeting with people.

See, the thing about my old job is that I was writer, and nothing more. I'd get my assignment and crank out the work. I appreciated that my manager didn't expect me to manage projects--she considered that her job.

Lena's title was "communications consultant," which I stupidly assumed meant that she was basically just a writer, like I once was. But no, it quickly became clear that one of her primary duties was to "manage expectations." I'm an introvert and a committed avoider-of-conflict, which I quickly discovered were strikes against me when I was called into action.

For example, I was cornered by the manager of something-or-other in HR who wanted me to draft up a communication plan about this-or-that related to employee engagement in the commercial department. I was still trying to mentally process the stuff he'd said ("communication plan," "employee engagement," "commercial department") when he started pressing me for a completion date. "End of business this week?" he asked me. My feeling of irritation must have translated into my face, because he then suggested that it was okay for me to "push back." ("Pushing back" being yet another thing that people are always doing at this company instead of "disagreeing.")

And I just can't get used to actually listening in meetings. I now realize that I had it made in my former role--I'd attend meetings and zone out, planning my outfits for the rest of the week or whatever, and my manager would later fill me in on the important points. Not so anymore. I recently sat through a mind-numbing PowerPoint presentation during which I stared at the wall, debating whether or not I should try jogging again, never imagining that anyone thought I was actually paying attention.

I prepared to leave the conference room, but "Jared," HR manager of compensation, indicated that I should stay. "Wait," he said, as he got the attention of his direct reports. "Let's get a download from Shannon."

A "download"? Clearly I was meant to have an opinion. I stalled, asking to see a copy of the "deck" (why are PowerPoint presentations always referred to as "decks"?). I paged through it, imagining myself to have a critical eye for something. Coming up with nothing, I pitched my alto voice even lower (hoping my masculine tones would channel authority), and spoke a few sentence fragments that I imagined sounded both corporate and managerial.

Everyone nodded seriously, and no one called me on my bullshit. "So that's what 'managing' is all about!" I thought, as I hurried out of the room.

And really, that seems to be it. I keep getting caught off guard, usually by someone who is very adept at corporate-speak. But then I just turn on my serious voice and focus on shifting responsibility, and I'm pretty sure I'll be okay until Lena puts her two-month-old into daycare.